


A Fateful Night

by MysteriousMystery



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Filbrick Pines' Bad Parenting, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Stangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousMystery/pseuds/MysteriousMystery
Summary: Please, If you need help, reach out. there are suicide prevention lines that are working 24/7, and you can always message me!Also, apparently voicemail didn’t become common until the 1980’s, and so I had to rework this into something a little more historically accurate (according to what I could Google in like, an hour.) and now my search history is a disaster. Also I didn’t edit this, and I wrote this at like 1am soooo….Im feeling a lot of feelings right now.Edit: I came back and edited this because I wrote a follow-up. And If I want to post that, I need to make sure I actually put forth effort in this part first.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	A Fateful Night

Stan had been drinking. He knew he shouldn’t have been; last time he got drunk he spent the night in county jail for starting some stupid bar fight. Drinking was a luxury, something he couldn’t normally afford to spend money on. He barely had enough to fill his car some days. But he needed it right now, to help him forget that it was his ~~their~~ 26th birthday. 

He had this cheap motel room for the next couple nights, but after that money would be pretty tight. 30 dollars a day felt ridiculous for a rundown place in the middle of nowhere. At least it came with a TV and a landline; the real scummy places didn’t even have that. The bed was a puke green with flower accents. The wallpaper was curling near the ceiling, and there were odd brown stains on parts of the yellowing carpet. The whole room smelled weirdly musty. All things considered, it wasn't too bad. He had definitely slept in more questionable places before. Across from the TV there was a small round table next to a chair. He was sitting in the only chair in the room, drinking Vodka from a paper cup he found in a cabinet, random commercials playing in the background. 

And this was a good day. At least he actually had a place to stay at. 

It was worth spending extra on a room and Vodka, so long as he could shut his brain off for a while. Not like he was using it for much anyways. The only thing he was good for was punching.

_"I’ve got the other thing. What’s it called? Oh, right, punching!"_

According to his Ma, who gave Stan updates about Ford every time he called, Ford moved over to a house in Oregon. He graduated a year or two ago, and was studying stuff in the backwoods. It seemed like he bounced right back from Stan destroying his project. Ford was doing great without Stan holding him back.

Meanwhile, Stan had been living in and out of his car. Barely able to scrape by. It felt like he and Ford were worlds apart. Not that it was surprising, Ford had all the potential, and Stan got “personality”. He could throw his fists like any other useless meathead, but it was obvious Stanford had been going places. Stanley was just a useless dud.

Stan’s hand shook when he tried to take another drink. He rubbed his face blearily and sighed. 

_There’s something useful you can do._  
_Not even you could mess it up._

Huh, yeah, he knew he wasn’t going to be making those millions. He couldn’t think of a reason to stick around when he’s not wanted. Ma and Shermie obviously had felt some misplaced responsibility for Stan’s well being, but they just didn’t know how much he messed up. Even outside of Ford’s project. They couldn’t tell how bad of a person Stan really was. Stan just made Shermie feel bad for his screw-up younger brother, and Ma just felt an obligation to watch out for him. Like the disappointment he was. 

No wonder Pa kicked him out. Without Ford, Stan was useless.  
_"All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride off your brother's coattails!"_

He was never gonna make something of himself.

Stanford was never gonna forgive him.  
His family was better off without him.

You’re suffocating  
Screw up  
Ignoramus

He couldn’t pick up the cup if he tried. But that didn’t matter anymore. The realization was terrifying and reliving at the same time. Stan could end it all, he didn’t have to keep going. If he didn’t, he’d just end up dead in some ditch anyways. Who cared if he sped up the process a little? He wouldn’t have to worry about making it day-to-day. Would never need to look over his shoulder, or sleep with a bat under his pillow.

He actually didn’t own a gun, bullets were expensive, and he always relied on his trusty knuckle dusters up till now. The last time he used a gun was with Rico, and that hadn’t ended well after Rico double crossed him. He got rid of that gun awhile back. 

Wait. His old medications. 

They’re only a year or so old. He’d gotten them when he left the asylum. He hated how strong they were, they always made him extremely drowsy, and he had to be alert whenever he slept in his car. So he hadn’t bothered taking them. But now, with alcohol in his system, it’d be too easy to just pop a few pills and sleep forever.

Actually, Stan was pretty sure they were in the bottom of his duffle. Getting up was more difficult than he remembered, but he still managed as he walked over to his bag and dug through it. Lo and behold, at the very bottom was a little orange bottle. It was still pretty full too. He put it on the table next to his cup. 

Okay, he had a plan. Should he write a note? He looked over to the provided notepad next to the phone. Ma gave him Stanford’s number the last time they talked. A phone was sitting right there. Maybe he could….call. Just to hear Stanford. He wouldn’t even need to waste a quarter on it this time. 

Fumbling with the dial, he called the number on the paper slip.

It rang.  
And rang.  
There was a click and-  
“Hello? This is Stanford Pines”  
Stan was momentarily frozen. Call him shortsighted, but he didn’t plan for Ford actually picking up.  
“...Hello?”  
Stan jolted when he realized he hadn’t hung up.  
“ I- I'm sorry, bye!” His voice trembled, and he slammed the phone on the receiver as he said it. 

Well. That was less than great, but It was something. An apology and a goodbye. It was literally the bare minimum. Which was good, he didn’t think his clumsy hands would stop shaking enough to write anything. He put the slip of paper down.

This was it. No more stalling. After struggling with the dumb childproof bottle, Stan was ready. He dumped the pills in his hand. This was it. 

He swallowed the pills, washed it down with whatever Vodka was left in the bottle. Things started getting fuzzy, and Stan let himself drift as the world eventually faded.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, If you need help, reach out. there are suicide prevention lines that are working 24/7, and you can always message me!  
> Also, apparently voicemail didn’t become common until the 1980’s, and so I had to rework this into something a little more historically accurate (according to what I could Google in like, an hour.) and now my search history is a disaster. Also I didn’t edit this, and I wrote this at like 1am soooo….Im feeling a lot of feelings right now.
> 
> Edit: I came back and edited this because I wrote a follow-up. And If I want to post that, I need to make sure I actually put forth effort in this part first.


End file.
